


I don't belong here, I gotta move on dear

by mahkent



Series: Life's so reckless, tragedy endless, welcome to the family [2]
Category: Everyman HYBRID
Genre: M/M, past animalization, past dehumanization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-06-29 10:37:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15727692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahkent/pseuds/mahkent
Summary: He’s faced with an open door.





	1. They leave.

Vinny’s lost count of how long it’s been since HABIT trapped them here. The date on the computer is meaningless, really, since HABIT can probably change it and change how they experience time. It’s been so long, though, so very long that they’ve almost given up on escaping.

That is until Vinny walks downstairs, leaving Evan curled in the bed. The neighborhood outside is jarringly standard. Green grass, cookie-cutter houses, everything. He hears dogs barking at one another and birds in the trees, the muffled drone of a lawnmower, he even hears _children_ laughing at one another. Just a neighborhood, filled with people living their normal lives.

Everything seems... _normal_. Vinny hurries up the stairs, yelling at Evan to get up, and shoves everything they need into the backpacks that he’s found scattered around the house. Food, clothes, he even takes a few toys and the collar because he doesn’t trust that HABIT won’t change Evan again (and maybe he’s just nostalgic). They leave soon after.

They _leave_. Both of them walk out, unsure, unsure if HABIT is playing a trick or if they’re legitimately freer than they’ve been in ages. Both of them walk out into the sun that hurts their eyes and they breathe in the freshest air and they both almost cry. Almost, then Vinny is crying, and Evan’s nudging his head against Vinny’s chest, then Vinny grabs him and pulls him so close. Almost too close, but neither of them really give a fuck when they’re _outside_ and _free_ and they can smell freshly cut grass on the air. When they pull away from one another, Vinny’s red-faced and Evan’s snuffling. Neither of them care as they head over to the car in the driveway - something compact and purple, but it works for what they need - and turn it on. The keys are _inside_ , it’s all too fucking easy.

Vinny drives, since Evan wasn’t ever stellar at it and he wants to drive more. They’re both quiet in the car. The roads are foreign to Vinny, so he drives almost aimlessly until he finds a convenience store. They have to go in. Vinny doesn’t want Evan to, but he doesn’t want to lose Evan, either. 

They walk in silently. The woman behind the counter looks at them, Evan still in his pyjamas and an oversized hoodie with his hands stuffed into the pockets to hide his hands, Vinny mostly dressed but looking tired regardless. She doesn’t stare at Evan as he ambles around, grabbing drinks and food, but she does stare at Vinny as he comes up to her.

When he asks where they are, she just looks at him for a few moments. Her answer is of a city he doesn’t know, an area he doesn’t know, and he’s fairly certain isn’t even in the same state as where he thought they were. He thanks her quietly then heads back to Evan. Lost- lost, in another state. How did HABIT get them here? How did HABIT manage to keep them for so long? 

“Lost as shit, man.” He murmurs, once he’s by Evan’s side and shielding him somewhat from the woman’s gaze. Evan’s got several bottles of water, some cans of various foods, and some snacks in his arms. He just looks up and grunts at Vinny - his mouth is shut tight. The teeth, Vinny knows, are one of Evan’s few insecurities that he has anymore. They don’t know what to do, even after Vinny takes their stuff to the counter and buys it with money he found in the house. The woman doesn’t look at them twice as they leave.

It feels weird to Vinny, that they’re having such an easy time. No being dragged back to the house, just Evan by his side opening a bag of chips with his teeth, both of them in the fresh air. Vinny still can’t get the paranoia out of the back of his head, the concept of HABIT dragging them both back to that accursed house, the concept of HABIT abusing them again and again.

They’re fine as they get back into the car, not talking for fear of shattering the tenuous peace they have now.

* * *

Evan hates this. He didn’t mind being in the house, as it was easy and he didn’t have to think about what was socially acceptable to do. He could act on whatever stupid dog urges reared their heads in his mind, but now he has to think about every action. He has to keep his mouth shut to hide the inhuman teeth and tongue he’s had for what feels like a long time, he has to hide his mutilated hands. Vinny has to handle anything that requires talking or person to person interaction. It’s all awful. 

He didn’t think he _wanted_ to stay in that house, but it was familiar and easy. They had the yard and the kitchen and everything they could need. Now, though? They’re effectively homeless and lost, uncertain of what direction they have in life. Free, but freedom scares Evan. The road ahead of them is so dark that he can’t see a damn thing on it. Vinny’s acting like he knows what’s going on, but Evan knows he doesn’t. Deep in those soft, dark eyes, he can see Vinny’s terror. The loneliness and loss in his heart. The way he reaches on hand out to rest it on Evan’s thigh, Vinny’s terrified. They both are.

They drive for what feels like years to Evan but likely is only a few hours. They don’t speak until they cross into rural country, the hills filled with corn and other crops Evan can’t really identify. Vinny’s voice is quiet when he asks “are you okay?”

It’s a loaded question. Truthfully speaking, Evan is stressed and concerned about the future, but he’s mostly worried about having to keep his mouth and hands hidden. He doesn’t want to worry Vinny, though. His silence still says too much to Vinny. Vinny sighs, quiet and sad, hand idly running across Evan’s thigh. “I know. I just- it’s this or wait for HABIT to fuck us up again, right?” Vinny’s fingers start to tap to rhythm onto the steering wheel, foreign to Evan’s ears. 

Evan grunts. Noncommittal, he doesn’t want to give an answer because he’d have to lie and the truth is too... weak, for him. Still, he opens his mouth- keeping his lips close together, trying to practice hiding the teeth- and says, “This is dangerous.” 

“Yeah.” Vinny says, and the beginnings of a conversation die at that. The silence is heavy, loaded, and Evan can’t _stand_ it. He wants to get out of the car. It’s too small, to the dog in his head and his natural mental status. He was always claustrophobic, only exacerbated by being trapped in his own head, silent and alone. The silence looms over them both, oppressive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the fic is set before Vinny gets moved to apt 3103, as the previous fics in this are set in evan/vinny/jeff's house from le premier cours, l'esprit de l'escalier, etcetera. title from "afterlife" by a7x.
> 
> there'll be more chapters, naturally. each chapter will, as far as i've planned, contain at least one Vinny perspective and at least one Evan perspective.


	2. Lucy

The clock on the dashboard says it's midnight, but it feels more like four a.m. to them. Something surreal and liminal hanging in the hot night air sends them to a homestyle diner, the sign reading _Papaw’s Cafe_. The inside is beat up, well-worn; the leather of the booth they sit at is cracked and weathered. It feels homey. The waitress looks at both of them for too long from her position at the counter. As if she's analyzing them, she meets Evan’s haunted gaze with motherly eyes. Her long red lacquered nails click on the counter as she looks. 

Evan knows they look like shit. Vinny’s tired, hair a bit too long and eyes dark with exhaustion, pretty in his own way but clearly bedraggled. Evan is pretty sure he looks a little homeless- ragged haircut, dirty sleep pants, an oversized hoodie. He didn't even have time to get shoes. She doesn't ask them about that, though, when she comes over. She just says her name is Lucy and asks in her strong Appalachian drawl what they would like. 

Evan opens his mouth without thinking about his teeth. “Coke.” She’s alarmed, he can tell. Her eyes noticeably open wider, the lashes dark with clumped mascara making it almost comical. He just stares her down. Vinny asks for the same, then asks for something called _Mamaw’s favorite_ , a plate of eggs and hash browns and fried chicken, for some reason. She doesn't leave once she hears the order; she just calls to the cook, and cocks a hip. 

“So, where are you boys from? You don't look like you're from ‘round these parts.” She asks. Her lips are swiped with pink lipstick, messy from what Evan suspects to be a long day of work. The question makes him suspicious of her. It's probably just idly chit-chat, or she's curious.

Vinny answers for them. Evan looks at his friend as he speaks; the curve of his lips, the flick of his tongue, fascinating but not what he should look at. Vinny’s voice is quiet as always, though clear in the silence. “New Jersey.” 

She nods. Her eyes are still focused on Evan, even with his mouth shut. Lucy remains genial regardless. “Long way from home, ain't you?” The chef is cooking. Evan can smell every ingredient, the salt and pepper and potatoes and chicken and all of it, it's so distracting but he has to focus on the woman who smells like old lady perfume and a plastic uniform.

Vinny’s eyes flick to Evan. A tiny shrug, and Evan speaks. “We went on a road trip and got a bit lost.” It's not true, but it isn't strictly wrong. They are lost, and they're both sure they're going to die out here, lost in the middle of almost-rural Ohio.

“You boys need directions?” Her voice is rough from cigarettes. Still friendly, still kind, but Evan smells the smoke on her breath and the decay in her lungs. He turns his gaze to Vinny’s hands. Soft, clasped in front of him, fingernails chewed short from anxiety. 

“No, ma’am.” Vinny says. Polite as ever, he smiles small, subdued but still cute. Evan knows he's just saying that because they don't have any place to go. Evan glances up at the woman again, at the tiniest curl of her lip and smells the way she’s begun sweating. Nervous, weak, scared. Scared of him, probably. Good.

“If you're sure, sweetie.” And she walks away, the crinkle of the plastic apron she has so loud to Evan. Once she's gone Vinny looks at him. Sad, tired, Vinny’s face is carved into a slight frown.

* * *

“She saw your teeth.” Vinny says to his friend. He's become so used to Evan's physical anomalies, the fingers and the teeth and the tongue, that he forgot about how it isn't normal. Until the woman stared at Evan like he was some sort of animal sitting in her booth, her eyes wide and her gaze like a hawks. 

“Yeah, Vin. It happens.” Evan says. He keeps his lips mostly closed as he speaks, muddling the sound, but it hides his teeth well enough. It tears Vinny up, that he has to keep it that way. A basic fact of his existence is so taboo that he can't even _speak_.

“It can't from now on, man.” Insistent, forceful. Vinny doesn't know what will happen if they're reported because of what HABIT did to Evan's body. It's possible HABIT will just take them back, or maybe they'll get arrested, or something else absolutely awful. A tightness settles itself around Vinny’s chest.

“I know, calm down.” At Vinny’s confused expression, Evan laughs half heartedly and continues his thought. “You look like you're gonna cry, man.” Evan’s lips are curled into a smile but his eyes are empty. Sad, almost.

Vinny supposes it's true. He didn't want to think about it, but he's high-strung and ready to scream from how stressful this is. Fugitives from a monster, mankind’s bad HABIT on their heels and their asses in a torn leather seat with a woman staring at Evan’s dog teeth. 

Evan reaches one hand out, palm up and stumped fingers wiggling. Indicating that he wants Vinny’s hand, maybe, and while Vinny can feel the woman’s gaze - Lucy, she said her name was - on them, on the short fingers and nervousness between them, he grabs Evan’s hand anyway. 

Evan’s palm is warm in his hand. The blunt fingertips running against his skin, the crooked smile that crawls onto his face without him thinking, Evan’s happy. It loosens the bindings of anxiety around Vinny’s chest when he smiles back at his friend, not as subdued as he knows his smiles usually are.

The meal comes soon after they fall into a comfortable silence. It’s hot and fresh, smelling like grease and chicken and unhealthy goodness. They split it roughly in half, Evan getting a slightly bigger portion just because Vinny’s seen how the guy eats. Despite being so little he’s got a trucker’s appetite, really. 

They eat in silence. Silence, their new normal, the tenseness of existing not something they want to encroach upon. Silence even as Evan’s hand slides out of Vinny’s, instead moving on to clumsily handling the silverware. Attempting to use them until he gives up and just eats with his hands.

Lucy is still staring, Vinny knows. He glances at her, at her blue eyes staring them down. He can see her gaze flicking over Evan, mostly. His hands, his teeth as he eats, the way he tilts his head like an animal when Vinny eats slower than him.

Evan says something about having to go to the restroom, not a real sentence but more of a low grunt and a jerk of his head. He shoves his hands back into his pockets as he heads off. Vinny’s left alone, eyes focused on the bathroom door, afraid that Evan will disappear behind it and never come back.

Lucy sidles up to Vinny almost as soon as the door shuts after Evan, handing him the handwritten check. She doesn’t leave, though, she just stares down at him. “Somethin’ ain’t right with your friend, sweetie.” She says. Her eyes are hard pieces of ice, her hand lowers to tap the table with her long nails.

It feels obvious, to him, but he can’t exactly explain it all to her. He just smiles politely and makes some stupid excuse. “He’s just fine, ma’am.” It’s weak, he thinks. Fine doesn't excuse too many teeth, too sharp and too _inhuman_.

Lucy doesn’t believe it either. Her already finely lined brow scrunches, the side of her nose lifts slowly. “Don’t you lie to me. His teeth? You ain’t noticed that?” Despite being a pretty enough woman, Vinny suddenly finds her hideous. Her personality- judging Evan for something as minor as that, something he can't change and didn't want in the first place, is just too rude for him to excuse. 

“He’s fine, really. Here’s, um, the money.” He hands her a fiver, enough to cover the meager four fifty-two the food cost. She takes it, still standing, still staring. Vinny can feel the judgement and hate coming from her even without really looking at her.

“He's a monster, honey. Those teeth ain't right. Once he comes back and I get you the change you two best get.” Her voice is flint. Hard, cruel, the polar opposite of her likely fake southern-enough hospitality. Vinny just smiles back, faking his own politeness when he really just wants to hit this bitch. 

Still, he does what she asks. Lucy gets him the change - a quarter, two dimes, and three pennies - quickly and when Evan comes back he stands immediately. The puzzled little noise Evan makes is stark in the silence of the restaurant; inhuman, _wrong_ , a beast in human skin as far as Lucy is concerned. 

He hurries Evan out. In the silence of the parking lot, darkness a blanket over their senses (over his, anyway, he thinks Evan’s senses are far superior to his now), he explains himself. “She thought you were, um, a monster. Because of your teeth.”

“So I just have to stay quiet around people.” Evan seems bothered by that, as much as he doesn’t mention it. Vinny can see the scrunch of his brows and the way his lips pull back in that so distinctly _dog_ way. Vinny can hear how his voice is rough and lower than it typically is. 

Vinny tilts his head, then nods. Hesitantly because he doesn’t want to push Evan into silence, but it’s the only way they won’t get any more attention than necessary. As they get back into the car, Evan pulling his hands out of his pockets and licking his fingers off mindlessly, head lowered in what Vinny thinks would be shame if he didn’t know that Evan isn’t ashamed of much at all anymore.

They drive off, not talking but holding hands instead. Vinny doesn’t really mean to; he just puts his hand on Evan’s thigh, wanting to be sure that he’s still there, and Evan grabs it. His hand is still warm and comfortable against Vinny’s. The drive is boring to both of them, the few buildings that they pass petering out into fields of corn. Endless, expansive, lulling them both into a comfortable calm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had intended to immediately put a chapter i've written already after this, but it's more fun to explore the issues these two have with the outside world. they aren't used to it anymore, and they don't remember how to fit in.
> 
> Lucy, incidentally, was fun to write. the false southern hospitality (appalachia is similar enough to the south that i feel comfortable calling it that) she has is genuinely scarier than someone just being a prick outright.


	3. Cheyenne

Vinny doesn’t mind being in the fields of corn, really. It means they’re significantly less likely to run into anyone that might catch onto how they aren’t quite right. Evan’s more obvious about it, the teeth and tongue and hands, how he’s too animal to ignore, but Vinny thinks he himself isn’t quite as slick as he could be. He’s terrified, paranoid, too awkward to hide what he is.

Traumatized. They both are, but Vinny knows he’s been changed in a different way than Evan was. He’s fully aware that he has some sort of separation anxiety. It’s easy to figure out why; his friends are all gone except for Evan, and Evan could be torn from him at any time. He knows it isn’t quite healthy but Evan doesn’t seem to mind it at all. If anything, Evan is just as clingy with him, sometimes. He’s terrified of losing Evan. He keeps one hand on Evan at most times, terrified that he could disappear or lose himself or somehow be ripped from Vinny’s hands.

He’s terrified as the car runs out of gas while they’re still in the fields of corn. By this point, Vinny’s rampant anxiety has tired him out and Evan’s fallen asleep in the passenger seat; he has to wake Evan, he knows, but he isn’t sure if he wants to. They still can’t stay in the car anymore. So, he reaches to his best friend, shaking his strong shoulder gently. Evan wakes, confused. He doesn’t argue as Vinny tells him to get out, that the car is useless, that they have to walk. He takes two backpacks, Vinny takes the other, and they walk. 

Evan’s strides are short. Vinny’s aren’t, so he slows his pace down as to not lose his friend. He eventually wraps an arm around Evan’s shoulder. It’s comfortable, how Evan moves closer to Vinny without thinking about it, smiling his sharp smile. 

Truthfully, Vinny thinks they’ll die out here, lost and in the dark. It’s a few hours drive to the last place Vinny remembers, in New Jersey; walking it’s several _days_. It isn’t possible. They don’t have enough food to last that long, nor do they have enough water.

It’s a sad prospect, but Vinny doesn’t quite mind dying this way. They aren’t being tortured or maimed, they’re just walking through the peaceful night together making quiet conversation to mask the silence of the fields.

* * *

The next person they come across is a farmer. Evan smells her corn-goat-dirt-so many _things_ scent before he sees her or hears her. He forgets to tell Vinny, though, so distracted he is by everything she has on her. Gunpowder; hard steel, a gun, the old wood of a shotgun stock well-worn by use and the smell of endless lonely nights without human contact. Animals alone coat her skin.

Vinny stops in his tracks when he sees her approach. He’s hesitant, Evan feels the poor guy almost skitter by his side. Evan just shoves his hands into his pockets again and closes his mouth. 

The woman, the farmer, comes into their vision. On her forehead she has one of the headlamps on a headband, in her hand she has a shotgun. Evan smells the black powder sitting pretty in its twin barrels. When he looks her over, cast into shadow as she is by her lamp, he sees that she’s just as pretty as she is rugged. Well muscled, lined face, hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail; she’s gorgeous, if a bit old for Evan’s tastes.

The shotgun is pointed but not aimed at them. A precaution against strangers, it’s more of a formality than anything with how she’s smiling at them. When she speaks her voice is a gentle drawl. “Hey, boys. What are you doing out here so late?” Evan smells whiskey on her breath, but only a little.

Evan keeps his mouth shut and his head down, but he still looks at her while Vinny speaks for them. “Sorry, ma’am, our car stopped a few miles back.” Her face is kind. Her lips are bare- she actually isn’t wearing any makeup, not that he’s surprised- and her teeth are crooked. 

Her response raises suspicion in Evan’s mind. “Well, I ain’t got gas, but I got a place to sleep if you two need.” Is codeword for _I want to trap you_ , as far as his paranoia wants him to believe, but Vinny nods. Vinny _nods_. Then they’re both heading towards a ranch style house, following the woman. 

The woman opens the door for them. Vinny is nervous, Evan knows. The scent of sweat and the pound of his heartbeat and the way his breathing speeds just a little bit. The woman is so, so relaxed; even more so than she was before. She points them to a bedroom. It’s not hers, Evan knows. It hasn’t been used in so long that it smells stale, dust itching in his nose despite him not even going in. 

Vinny lays down almost immediately. His stamina was never the best, but Evan can hear the anxious pounding of his heart whittling away more energy than usual. He curls up with Vinny just to calm the pounding, calm his friend and lull him into a deep sleep. Once Vinny’s asleep, though? He stands and slinks out of the room. He isn’t comfortable leaving them both unaware, not in this new house, nor is he comfortable shutting the door and blocking Vinny from his eyeline. 

The woman is sitting at a handmade wooden table, decades of handprints and stains wearing the wood away. The way she's sitting there makes him think that she was waiting up for him. Maybe she was, he thinks when he sees how her wrinkled lips curl into a smile.

“Hey, son.” In her voice he thinks son is just a way of addressing him. This close he can see how her clothing is handmade and how she’s squinting just a bit to see him. “I don’t think we introduced ourselves, huh? I’m Cheyenne.” She sticks her left hand out. Her palms are scarred from years of fieldwork, he assumes, the short fingernails with dirt under them unpainted.

A moment of hesitation keeps him staring at the hand before he sticks his own hand out, not giving much of a fuck about the state of them. It’s something she definitely notices, as she shakes his hand firm and strong; she doesn’t let go immediately. Instead, she takes his wrist, pulling his hand closer to her and forcing him to lean over the table a little. 

“Well, boy, there’s some explaining to do.” Is all she says. Her eyes crinkle at the edges as she smiles, gentle and kind. Her hold on his wrist isn’t even tight- it’s just there, a presence that he doesn’t really enjoy but doesn’t want to fight in case she does make it tight. He wants to fight just a little when her other hand lifts, the tips of her fingers running over his stupid finger stumps.

“Evan. Not boy.” He grunts. Despite his best effort, his teeth show, but she doesn’t ask about that. Yet. It’ll come up eventually, he bets. He shifts just a little, bare feet (since he still doesn’t have any shoes, a minor annoyance that he doesn’t care enough to fix) scuffing against her battered hardwood floors. She just looks at him, head tilted in a way that makes him want to break her teeth out of her jaw.

He doesn’t think she’d ever believe him if he explained the full truth, that a monster made him a dog and forced his best friend to cut his fingers off, so he keeps it simple. “Someone decided I didn’t need my fingertips. You get used to it.” It’s a weak answer, really. Not quite enough to make her stop asking.

He slips up, though. Talking to her too much and too close makes it impossible to hide his... unique appearance, and of course she fucking asks. “And your teeth?” Her eyes focus on his lips as he talks. 

He doesn’t give enough of a fuck to hide it anymore. “What about them?” He asks, letting his lips curl back away from his teeth that he’s so used to now. Her eyes rove over all of them, all sixteen, the way his flat tongue curls loosely in his mouth. Despite it all, he doesn’t think she’s trying to judge him.

“You ain’t slick, honey. I had a dog, a few of ‘em, and I had a few kids. I know that ain’t right.” She finally lets go of his wrist. “Now, you don’t really have to explain. I don’t think there’s an explanation that makes those things make sense.” Her rough, calloused hands pat his, then she pulls her hand to rest in front of her own. As she does he feels her fingertips draw over the end of his fingers again, the sensations dull and far away.

He growls. It’s low, deep in his chest, something of a _rrrf_. The woman- Cheyenne, he reminds himself- just keeps _staring_ , she’s too calm about it all. She’s so calm as she keeps talking, responding to his animal attitude with a mother’s callous care. “Don’t you growl at me, boy.” Her laugh makes him think of the vague, probably false memory he has of his mother; her honey-soft laugh and callous, cigarette torn voice. Cheyenne just keeps that sweet smile. “I don’t care if you’re- well,” She gestures at his face, his hands. “Oh, you know. I just wanna know if you and your boyfriend are okay.”

The assumption that they’re dating catches him off guard. “He’s not my boyfriend.” Is the first thing he spits, tongue slipping to lick his lips without him thinking about it. A nervous habit from his days as a dog, it shows more than he wants to. Cheyenne doesn’t care, apparently, since she just chuckles lightheartedly.

“Oh, calm down, honey. You may not be dating but you two are close, anyone can tell. What got you two stuck way out here?” It's too curious for his tastes. She keeps pressing, a constant force that never gets to be too much until he considers that he might have to tell her something. He shoves his hands into his pockets not from insecurity but from a desire for privacy.

Explaining would make him sound insane, he knows. It sounds insane even to him, and he was _there_ \- a monster that wears humans like disposal suits, trapping them, making one a dog and the other a clingy mess? Impossible, illogical, it goes against every normal possibility but is still so true. He hesitates again, tongue licking his lips again, he lies again. A half-lie, a half-truth, something that might appease Cheyenne. “A road trip gone wrong. Already had some bitch chase us out of a diner ‘coz she thought I was a monster.” 

“Well,” She starts, after sucking air in through her teeth, “you two are welcome here. You seem like a good boy, and so does he.” A loose gesture towards Vinny. Evan can still see him through the open door, curled on his side and fast asleep, face relaxed. Calm. 

It takes him a moment or two to register what she said, his attention locked on Vinny for enough time that it doesn't feel right to look back at her. “Thanks.” He says, if only because his crooked dog smile doesn't quite convey what he wants. 

Cheyenne is silent, for a moment or two. She looks him over; his messy haircut, the teeth, the way his eyes flicker back and forth and his tongue licks his lips in that nervous dog way. Eventually, she stands, taller than Evan expected - probably Jeff’s height, unfairly tall compared to how short Evan is - and walks off to her own bedroom. Her bidding him goodnight is really just her waving her hand, that kind smile visible from how she turns her head to the side. 

Evan slinks back to the guest bedroom. He curls up next to Vinny, a place he so familiar and so comfortable with, and sleeps soundly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter more focused on evan this time since vinny is depression man (take me by the hand).


	4. Paranoia

Vinny wakes to find Evan curled up beside him. He's still wearing what he escaped in (that hoodie he stole from Vinny and too-large sleep pants) unsurprising to Vinny, and he's fast asleep. At some point he'd shoved his head up under Vinny’s arm to rest it on his chest. 

He doesn't want to get up from this. It's comfortable, his best friend (all he has left) by his side and the quilt they're under pleasantly warm from body heat. Still, he knows they're in a foreign house with a woman neither of them really know, so he puts a hand on Evan’s head and ruffles his hair.

Evan wakes slowly. He pushes his face into Vinny’s chest, grunting quietly; he opens his eyes only when Vinny says _Ev_. It's a tender moment as far as Vinny’s concerned. In the sunlight filtering in through the window, Evan’s blue eyes are a gorgeous sky, his hair catching the light too and showing every endearingly choppy end. A few blinks to clear his eyes, and he makes a quiet noise of happiness when Vinny runs his hand down his spine, stopping at the small of his back.

Evan’s teeth glint in the sun, when he opens his mouth to talk. His voice is rough from sleep in that way that Vinny’s always smitten by. “She saw my teeth. And, uh, hands.” This close Vinny can see that he's agitated by this fact. He licks his lips, his teeth are bared. He can feel how Evan shifts a little closer, pressing his face into Vinny’s chest, can feel how Evan’s legs are pressed against his. Evan keeps talking, looking up through his lashes at Vinny. “She- she didn't, um, get mad or anything. Just said that it was weird. Called us boyfriends too.”

That stops Vinny’s train of thought. _Boyfriends?_ While he knows he wouldn't mind it, it feels like such a trivial title anymore. What do either of them care? It's only a name, something that could never truly define what they are to one another. Best friends, only friends, owner and dog, whatever they are. They'll be there for each other hell or high water, even if they don't know what to really call themselves.

Vinny doesn't really say anything in response. He just lifts a hand, carding his fingers through that messy brown hair, smiling gently when Evan's pretty eyes close and he pushes his head almost insistently into the touch. They don't get up for a few more minutes, relishing the silent peace. 

They get up, if only because neither of them trust Cheyenne enough to stay vulnerable for so long. Vinny changes clothes for a sense of normalcy; Evan stays in the same hoodie and sleep pants, saying something about how he _don't give a shit_ , but it's fairly obvious that he just wants to hide his hands. When they walk out, they find Cheyenne on the threadbare couch, watching some sort of old show that Vinny doesn't recognize. 

“Welcome to the land of the living, boys.” She says. Her drawl is stronger when she's relaxed, it sounds. She stands too suddenly; despite Vinny’s flinch, she strides over to him and offers her rough hand to him. He shakes it gently, but her handshake is strong. Everything about her is intimidating in all the right ways. “Cheyenne.”

“Um, Vincent,” He stutters, honestly a little star struck. She's stunning, really- but he has to focus on the now, especially since his friend is standing right there and he's not sure what their relationship is anymore, halfway between best friends and something _more_. “Th- thank you for letting us sleep here.”

“Oh, it's no problem, sweetie. Your friend Evan here told me you two were lost, right?” Her hair is loose today, flowing over her shoulders; her eyes are crinkled around the edges still. At Vinny’s slightly confused nod, she laughs. “Well, like I told him, you two are welcome here for as long as you need.” 

“We don't want to be a bother, ma’am.” He doesn't trust her. Evan doesn't either, Vinny thinks, not with how he stands behind Vinny and shifts back and forth. Nervous. When he looks back he sees Evan licking his lips again in that weird nervous animal way. It all feels so wrong, standing here in a stranger’s house acting like they're normal people. 

“Oh, nonsense. You two are just fine. Odd, but…” She laughs again, light like honeysuckle and a warm breeze. “Ain't like I can judge.” Cheyenne is far too calm about it all. She doesn’t so much as blink when Evan moves to stand just in front of Vinny, lips curled back from his teeth like a dog trying to guard his owner.

“Calm down, kid.” Her voice is more serious, now. Evan shifts a little, then backs off; the dog in him hates this, Vinny thinks. Vinny just reaches to pull Evan close to his side, hand burying into the soft tufted hair at the base of Evan’s skull. Comforting, a way to calm his dog-friend-Evan and keep him from attacking this woman. 

“Look, we’re both just,” He hesitates. How could he explain why they're so paranoid? The fear of Evan being ripped from him, the fear of being forced to do all manner of horrible things, Vinny can't _stand_ trying to parse it in a way that doesn't sound absolutely fucking batshit.

Cheyenne takes his trailing off in stride. She's too smooth, too good at this. Too helpful. Vinny’s chest again, as always, tightens with anxiety even as she keeps talking in her gentle way. “Oh, you two are broken kids if I ever seen any. Whatever you two went through, it's none of my business-” her weathered hands, raised in mock surrender- “I just wanna offer you two a safe place to stay.”

A safe place. Beside him, he hears Evan scoff. Vinny just says “‘No thank you, ma’am.” As Evan pads off to the room. He comes back with the bags, and they leave. It really isn’t difficult; behind them he hears Cheyenne sigh, disappointed. He knows she must be lonely, must want to take care of someone or just have company, but he doesn't give a shit. It's too dangerous.

The sky outside is warm honey, clouds like cotton trailing across it. The air is pleasantly warm but all Vinny can think about is how Evan walks beside him, silent and tense, but so accepting of the way Vinny wraps an arm around him again and runs his fingers through that soft hair. They're lost and alone, but they have each other. It's really all Vinny can ask for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evan wearing the same shit for days on end is SUCH a mood. 
> 
> it's fun, having these two interact with people who haven't been through the hell they have. they're so broken that they legitimately can't understand the concept of someone just being nice and helping them, they think it's a ploy or a trap, something that HABIT’s trying to get them with.
> 
> also breaking from the 1 vinny 1 ev perspective like 90% because i forgot to write an evan one. it's fine though, i love describing his hair.


	5. Jim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for car accidents.

The hills are large, here. It isn't so bad for Vinny, because his legs are long enough that it only takes a few strides to get up them, but he can tell Evan's starting to get frustrated by how slow he is. Short legs and no shoes just don't help much. It certainly doesn't help, either, that it's dark and raining and getting increasingly cold. They follow the roads, for the most part, but eventually find that they've been heading the wrong way for a while.

They have to cross a road to get to where they need to. It's the biggest one they've seen in a while, actually paved. Vinny’s already crossed it by the time Evan gets up the hill that preceded it. He can hear how Evan hisses a curse out.

Evan starts to cross the road. He's slower than typical, frustrated with the walk, too tired to haul ass. It isn't an issue until he's caught like a deer in the headlights of a oncoming car- it's so _fast_ , Vinny can't so much as call out before he watches the truck hit Evan. 

It _hits_ him. Evan, looking so small in the glare of the car’s light, goes flying; there's a sickening thud, the _crack_ of something important, a howl of agony that echoes even as it's followed by another thud of him hitting the ground. Vinny’s chest tightens, he rushes towards Evan- he's somewhere in the brush on the roadside, whining and gasping. As he moves past the person getting out of the truck he can see blood on the windshield.

Even without medical experience, or checking under Evan’s clothes, he can see how his body is twisted in all the wrong ways. His hips are turned one way while his legs are stretched out, his torso is facing up and he's very near tears. Blood is on his face and it looks like he might have broken a few ribs with how he whines at every breath, the person who hit him approaches Vinny and-

It's all a lot. Vinny can feel his own air supply disappearing, escaping through his fingertips as if it barely existed in the first place. Evan’s eyes are wide and panicked but all Vinny can do it curl into himself, one hand going to cup Evan’s face and the other wrapped around his stomach. 

The person comes up behind him. Vinny turns to look, finding some old man who looks like he'd be better with a banjo than driving. The man looks suitably worried for what happened. When he speaks, his voice is tense and age-worn, gravel in his throat. “Son of a- he's hurt.” Vinny can feel his lips curl back at the obvious statement, but the man keeps talking. “Shit- there's no hospital ‘round here, sonny, but we can take him to my house.” 

He despises that he has to accept help from this stranger. But he sees how Evan keeps getting more and more panicked, every little movement shifting broken bone and battered flesh, so he relents. He remains silent as he picks Evan up- heavy, his friend is warm in his arms but it might be blood because the warmth is sticky and he can feel his heart pounding but the man just tells him to get in. 

The drive is terse. He cradles Evan to his chest, listening to the wet wheezing and the way that he can _hear_ bone scraping against other bone. Evan doesn't scream, no; he just whines, that dog noise of pain making the old man look over. Vinny knows he's already seen the teeth, and with the ay Evan’s hands are brought up to his chest it's hard to ignore the fingers. The old man doesn't question.

He's gruff, but kind enough considering what he's done to Evan. “You boys are out late.” It's a very obvious fact; Vinny looks down at Evan, who’s getting paler and paler and his eyes keep sliding shut. Vinny has to shake him awake, again and again, watching shock render his best friend cold and confused.

“Our car broke down and we got lost.” Is Vinny’s answer. It’s the truth, for once; the man just snorts. Vinny keeps his eyes on Evan. Those sharp teeth are covered with blood, the wet breaths Evan takes just bring up more, isn’t that a sign of internal bleeding? Vinny can’t _breathe_.

“Miss Cheyenne told me, yes. Rang me up and all.” The man can see Vinny’s hesitance, the fear flitting across his face and the way he pulls Evan just a little closer. Evan makes a quiet sound of discontent, pain, something in his chest shifting and crackling. “Oh, I understand. She's far too, well,” The farmer grunts, something dismissive. “Overzealous ‘bout new folk.”

He keeps talking. Vinny’s fine sitting in silence, gaze flicking between the old man and Evan. The old man is tan, hair unkempt, wearing the same handmade clothing like Cheyenne, but of slightly different texture. Evan’s breathing is starting to become erratic. “Now, she told me a lot about your little friend there. I'll be honest withya- if it weren't for my hitting him, I’da drove right past ya. I ain't the people type, nor am I the... whatever he is type. Still, you're in my car, so I'm Jim.”

Something about how the man is so casual, so frank, makes Vinny want so badly to believe that he’s good intentioned. Vinny smiles until he feels Evan curl up a little, groaning this time. A human sound, a confused sound as his eyes roll in his head and his lips curl. Vinny stares at the man, murmuring “Vinny, thank you” then going quiet as the man takes them to his home.

* * *

Evan’s had worse than this. HABIT, always HABIT would wake him when he was horribly injured and leave him to suffer before fixing his body and locking him away again. That still doesn’t make the scrape of his shattered bone against his skin any better. It doesn’t change how he can taste blood in his mouth and hear his _fucking pelvis_ shifting. Vinny, with his warm arms cradling Evan to that soft chest, Vinny’s breathing shallow and fast. Nervous.

It’s a damn shame Evan can’t manage to move much. Despite being _used_ to pain, it still fucking hurts, and he’s not willing to move and tear anything else. He wants to comfort Vinny, he really does. It’s just that even breathing is becoming difficult and his vision is starting to be swarmed by black spots. What he can see is only Vinny’s shirt, too close to show him anything else.

He hated how it felt. He’d heard the car, so far away but he didn’t quite realize how close it was until it hit him. It wasn’t like anything else he’d gone through; it was so sudden, so jarring, he couldn’t register anything but pain and the blur of the night sky then he hit the ground. Agonizing, a stop just as sudden as the start, his head his the ground far too hard. The truck had caught him on his right side and it’d taken the worst. He feels the way his ribs shift as he gasps, feels the way that when he stops his hips shift in ways they _really_ shouldn’t.

He hates the confusion of the now. It’s all blank, his understanding of the world reduced to his nose in Vinny’s shirt and the way his body jostles with every bump the trucks go over. The only other thing he knows for a fact is that Vinny’s damn near an anxiety attack- the guys wound up, always, there’s the quiet sound of too shallow breathing that's filling his ears and he really just wants to comfort Vinny.

The rest of the ride is a mystery to him. He just keeps staring at the cloth in front of him, feeling every bump shake his broken bones, tasting the blood in the back of his throat. He stares, trying to think of anything but the pain and the way that Vinny’s holding him so gently; he stares as whoever's driving (whoever hit him) takes them to god knows where.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually enjoy these incidental characters a lot. they're all from similar backgrounds, poor appalachians who live in a fairly homogeneous society; there's not a lot of new folk or different folk (i.e. a dog man) and, _very_ generally speaking, religious superstitions are more common for them. despite their similar backgrounds, they're all fairly different in how they interact with the boys, though. lucy was intolerant and fearful, cheyenne was far too tolerant and lonely, jim's somewhere in the middle but really just doesn't want to get involved with the boys' bullshit.
> 
> fun fact: approximately 1.2 _million_ dogs are killed on the road annually. couldn't find stats for dogs _hit_ annually but hey, 1.2 mil is a fuckin lot of dogs. sorry, ev.
> 
> i also have a few chapters written ahead of this but likely will have to reorder or rework them since i wrote them before this one. as such, the next chapters will appear relatively soon.


	6. Impasse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _ **major**_ warning for homophobia and related slurs.

Evan’s mind is taken not by HABIT but by the pain. Vinny doesn’t realize until he’s halfway through cleaning Evan up; he’s using what few medical supplies the old man - Jim, he said - had, trying to keep Evan alive while healing HABIT’s given the guy works as fast as it always does. 

Frankly, though? Vinny doesn't even really notice at first. He just notices Evan beginning to shift more, nosing the hand Vinny’s using to support himself as he runs a wet rag down that broad, bruised back. He notices Evan make a quiet _rrnf_ noise of pain but it really isn't in the forefront of his mind until Jim walks in.

Evan's head snaps up. His teeth are bared, and whatever humanity was left in his eyes is gone. He can't move properly just yet; Vinny sees how his legs twitch from the pain, sees how his hips are still positioned oddly. Broken. And yet, Evan snarls at the old man. His lips curl back from his teeth, that same licking motion he always does when he’s nervous or upset flicks his flat tongue out again and again.

It's an impasse that Vinny has to break, what happens next. Jim grabs a shotgun- maybe he had it just in case, maybe he just keeps it around- and points it at Evan; Evan continues snarling, hands shifting like he wants to protect Vinny from who is to him a stranger. Vinny has to put his hand on Evan's face, run it back over his hair, murmur meaningless words of comfort.

He needs to solve the issue of Evan being a dog. He can try to bring Evan back, but he’s fairly certain the dog mind will only fade into the background when he’s not in pain; all he can do right now is try to stop Evan from attacking the old man who's really only trying to help them. The hand on Evan’s head moves to grab his shoulder, keeping him still- the guy can't move well enough to actually attack, but it's better safe than sorry. 

“I have a collar in the black bag. A leash too.” Vinny says, voice broadcasting his exhaustion. Jim goes to get it without questioning- when he comes back, he's staring at it, at Vinny, at Evan who's shut his eyes tight from the pain. He stares as Vinny clips the collar around Evan’s neck and clips the leash to that, wrapping the end of it around his wrist.

“He your dog?” Jim’s set the shotgun down, now that Vinny has a tight grasp on the leash. With his other hand Vinny keeps running the rag over Evan’s skin, wiping blood off of dark blue-black-red bruises. Like a sunset, they bloom over his pale skin, covering it with a hideous rainbow of color. The fading scrapes down his left cheek leave behind the color. Really, a good portion of his body looks practically painted with the bruising. 

“Not willingly.” He's too tired to lie. With the collar on and the leash tethering him to Vinny, Evan seems to understand that he has to stay quiet and still. Or, at the least, he stops growling; his chest is still heaving as he tries to take deep breaths that don't quite make it past his shattered ribs.

“You've some explaining.” Is all Jim says in response. He waits, clearly wanting Vinny to do as ordered; Vinny doesn't give enough of a fuck to hide the truth. Jim’s eyes are focused on Evan, focused on Vinny’s dog. The way his lips are parted to show the inhuman teeth, the way he leans into Vinny’s gentle touches.

“Long story short, something messed with his head-” He gently runs a hand through Evan's hair again, watching the way his friend's (dog’s) eyes close. Satisfied, Evan smiles in that weird dog way. “To make him, for most purposes, a dog. It sounds- it sounds, weird, I know, but... you can see it's true. But now that Evan’s kind of mentally dog sometimes he just reverts. Um, his name is Evan.” A loose gesture with his free hand at his dog. “I guess pain does it.” He knows he sounds exhausted. Too exhausted for Jim to thing he’s lying, hopefully. 

Jim’s brows are raised high. The wrinkles on his forehead are far more pronounced this way, and his pale eyes are wide. “That’s insane, buddy.” He grunts. It’s a fairly understandable assumption. Vinny knows that, if he detaches himself from every awful experience of the past years, he thinks it’s insane too. Sometimes he doesn’t even have to detach himself- it just always feels weird, when he thinks about it. His dog, his friend who was used as a suit for a monster, leaning into his touch and gasping through his blood pooling in his mouth.

“Y'know, sometimes I wish I were just insane.” He stares down at Evan. Evan’s eyes are still shut, and his head has lowered to rest on the ground. Whatever he’s thinking, Vinny doesn’t know. He knows that for now Evan isn’t panicking. If anything, he’s actually very calm even though his nostrils are flaring with the effort of breathing.

“Now, sonny, I don't want to deal with whatever his deal is and I ain't as generous as Miss Cheyenne. Once he can walk you're gone, right? Dog or not.” It’s a fair stipulation. Jim’s already said, twice over, that he doesn’t want to help, didn’t intend to get involved if it weren’t for Evan in the road. Vinny doesn’t want a stranger involved in their insane lives. 

It’s always a risk, meeting someone new. Either they’re one of HABIT’s unwilling - or willing, very rarely - cronies or they wind up dead by HABIT’s hands. It’s so common, it’s such a pattern that Vinny can’t ever get it out of his mind. He nods at Jim, turning his head to look the old man in the eyes. 

Jim’s curious, evidently. He sits in a chair near Evan and looks down at them, looks down at the leash wrapped around Vinny’s wrist, looks at how Vinny’s morose about it all. “Cheyenne said you two were dating, hm?”

“We aren’t.” Vinny says, even as he wets his hand under the faucet and runs it through the normally soft hair that’s dried into spikes with blood. He’s very well aware that they’re close, but it feels so very _wrong_ to claim Evan as anything intimate when he can revert back into a dog so easily.

Jim doesn’t believe him, evidenced by his gravelly laugh of amusement. “Sure, kid,” he says, lips quirked into a wrinkled smile. “I see how you look at him. The way you touch him. You might not want to admit it, but I know you’re a faggot.” It’s said like a curse. As if it’s bad to be gay, as if Vinny’s _wrong_ to be attracted to Evan. Evan, with his muscular body and crooked teeth and the way his eyes sparkle in the sun, the soft tufts of hair at the nape of his neck and how he curls into Vinny’s side like he was made to fit there- _fag_. He’s just a fag to this old man.

Vinny’s been called that, when he was younger. _Fag_. It was just because he wasn’t as masculine as the others expected him to be in middle school, high school, just because he was friendly with Evan and Jeff. Really, it was always because of how friendly he was with Evan- how friendly Evan was with him. So touchy feely, Evan would lean against him or hop on his back or any manner of physical contact. Vinny liked it until the other kids started picking on him for it. _Fag. Queer. Homo._ All manners of names, flung at him and then at Evan; they dealt with it in such different ways. Vinny just took it, trying to not make a scene, turning his eyes away and trying to disappear as if that’d ever make them stop. Evan would always fight. It was frankly a decent tactic, as it always made the names stop, but would always get Evan in trouble and if he was against too many people he’d get his ass kicked too.

Vinny’s quiet, for a minute or two. He doesn’t look at Evan, no; he looks at Jim. The man so earnestly believes the _bullshit_ that he’s spewing. He doesn’t care that Vinny’s lip is beginning to curl. He doesn’t care that Evan’s picking up on Vinny’s anger, his raw poorly hidden rage, that he too is beginning to get angry. Vinny’s almost even convinced that he should let Evan attack the man, but he can see that Evan’s hips still aren’t healed enough for him to move. “And if I am?” He asks, knowing his face is carved into a harsh expression of rage and hurt.

“Then you’re going to hell, sonny.” A frank statement that Vinny can’t help but laugh at, raw and broken. Hell? _Hell?_ He’s already been there. That house was hell, being forced to follow HABIT’s every whim and being forced to watch his best friend reduced to a simple beast because of the monster that’s still, _still_ torturing them both. Being forced to rip tooth after tooth out and cut finger after finger off of his friend, Vinny’s sure he’s in hell, with Jeff burnt to a crisp and Steph dead and Evan just a dog by his side.

“Bold of you to presume I’m not already there. My best friend is a dog and I’m stuck here listening to your bullshit because _you_ hit him with your truck.” He spits. Evan shifts next to him, making the quietest _rrff_ noise. Growing agitated just like his friend. “Look, I’ll be out of your hair as soon as he can walk, like you said. Stop being so shitty in the meantime.” Tone hard as flint, broken and enraged.

“I speak only the truth, sonny boy; ain’t my fault if you can’t see it.” Jim’s so insistent about it all. He just keeps smiling serenely as if he’s the rational one here, as if he isn’t the one insulting Vinny for his basic existence. From his position on the ground Evan lift his head just a little, bumping the top of his head into Vinny’s thigh. A sort of comfort despite how his tag jangles. 

“Honestly, Jim? I’ve seen enough to know that I don’t give a shit about going to hell.” He stops talking, after that, turning towards Evan yet keeping an eye on the old man. The old man stares for a while; another impasse, but this time neither Vinny nor Evan want to break it. Evan just shifts to rest his head on Vinny’s thigh, and Vinny just keeps petting him, trying to ignore how his chest feels tight and his heart is pounding just like it would when he was younger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yuck! hated writing this. like, i enjoyed exploring some of vinny's emotions and stuff, but yuck! homophobia. i was even considering just scrapping this but it's good introspection and accurate to how i was planning jim out.
> 
> also, no evan section because he's just in pain. sorry.


	7. one, two, three, four, five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for references to homophobia of the previous chapter and use of one related slur.

Evan wakes with a splitting headache, the feeling of Vinny’s head on his stomach, and an all-body ache. The itch of healing, the feeling of a collar around his neck. When he opens his eyes he's, frankly, fairly confused; both he and Vinny are on the floor. He's bare chested, Vinny’s still in daytime clothing, and the leash clipped to his collar is wrapped around Vinny's wrist.

When he looks down at himself he sees mottled bruises. Purple-yellow-red, not as bad as he expected. When he moves his legs he can feel that his pelvis isn't broken anymore, but still hurts; the movement makes Vinny stir.

Something’s wrong with Vinny, he can already tell. The fact that he's holding onto Evan's thigh like a lifeline, the way that dried sweat clings to his skin and the way he smells of stress. Something happened. Evan can't for the life of him remember _what_ \- he knows that the old man, Evan doesn't care what his name is, was talking to him last night. He just can't remember any of the words; the dog came back, awakened by the fear and the fact that Evan was in no shape to really use any of his higher processes. Or maybe his higher processes being ruined by the absolute agony just made him into a dog. He doesn't know, he doesn't care, he just cares that Vinny’s awake now. 

One of his hands goes to run through Vinny’s hair without him truly thinking about it. Vinny raises his head just enough to make eye contact, shaking his head- why? There's some fear in his eyes, that pounding heartbeat back again, _again_. He murmurs something about a shirt and stands.

Evan puts the bloody hoodie on from when he got hit. It's dry now, crusted patches making it smell uncomfortably of iron; he doesn't really care enough to dig a different shirt out, not when he can hear the shuffle of the old man from somewhere in the house. Vinny must see how his eyes track the sound- a weird concept, new to him when he first realized how he wasn't deaf anymore, but so natural now- so he tilts his head.

“The guy’s awake.” Evan says, voice rough from sleep and tight from how it still sort of hurts to move. Something tells him that they should leave. Vinny's tense, grabbing the bags and handing only one to Evan. Evan takes it after he's tucked the leash into his hoodie; his mutilated fingers don't allow him to navigate little clips like that, and the dog in his head doesn't want to take it off. Vinny put it there, after all, so it should stay there.

They leave silently. The house behind them, in the early morning light, looks like a mouth halfway open. Evan looks back only once then turns his gaze to focus on Vinny. Without thinking about it, some not quite new instinct has him moving towards Vinny and pressing himself into that soft side. Vinny doesn't react.

That's the main issue, really. Vinny - especially now - always loves physically affection. It's wrong that he's shying away from Evan, that he's wrapping his arms around himself. The heartbeat just keeps getting louder, louder, _louder_ , Vinny keeps breathing heavier and it's just too _much_. A roaring wind and the pound of drums in his ears, he has to do something; he can't just sit here and listen to Vinny panic.

“Vin.” He says, stopping by the side of the road. Intentionally he keeps away from the road itself. Vinny moves closer to him but keeps his distance still, doe eyes sad and fearful. “Why are you freaking out?” He asks, setting the bag down. Vinny does the same with his (for some reason he insisted on taking the other two, but Evan’s back isn't really complaining about that) and his soft face twists in confusion. In response, Evan just taps his ear. 

Vinny doesn't get that, it seems. But he hesitates for a different reason- the anxious whine in his chest, the way he starts sweating and his knees shake. Vinny’s breathing picks up. Faster faster faster, he can't breathe, Evan knows. He can't breathe and that probably only serves to panic him more and more until he's falling to his knees and burying his hands into his soft-coarse hair. 

Speaking probably won't help. Evan just kneels by him, giving him space, yet near enough that Vinny can see him. A buried habit he doesn't remember picking up or even having at all rises to the front of his mind- the doctor (who?) told him. He doesn't touch Vinny, not for a few moments. Then he thinks that maybe Vinny needs something grounding. He shifts a little closer, putting one hand on Vinny’s thigh; the twitch he feels doesn't deter him.

“Vin. One, two, three, four, five. Vin- say, um, it with me.” Vinny doesn't look at him. “Vin.” More insistent, Vinny looks up, eyes wide and pupils but pinpricks in the darkness of his iris. Evan knows this helps him- waking after realizing what he did, feeling meat in his teeth, tapping a hammer against his skull like a slaughterhouse worker about to put some animal down. Counting kept him focused. Five taps against his skull. Now, though, he puts a hand on Vinny's shoulder. "Vin." Stronger." 

Vinny doesn't respond. “Can you, um- say the words with me, man?” He asks, waiting for some form of acknowledgment. The tiniest nod from Vinny is the first sign that he's trying. Together, they say, “One, two, three, four, five,” haltingly. Evan waits for Vinny’s heart to stop beating in his ears and stop pounding against the bone he's still touching; it takes a few minutes. He knew it would, with how agitated Vinny was. 

Vinny’s still breathing heavily when Evan hears how his heart has calmed enough that he won't just keel over. Without really thinking about it, Evan lays down on his side, resting his head on Vinny’s soft thigh. The dog coming to comfort his master, the man coming to comfort his friend. Vinny buries his hand into Evan’s hair as if it were a lifeline. 

“You good?” Evan asks once Vinny’s run his hand down his spine a few times. The choking like a howling wind has faded to a breeze, the comforting reminder that Vinny’s alive and well. Hesitating, though- a beat or two where he almost says something, then stops after his voice squeaks. 

As if someone's clamping his jaws shut, Vinny grits out a sentence. “He called me a faggot.” The statement brings some long ignored rage to a boil in Evan’s chest. _He_ must have been the old man, the old man who fucking hit him and pushed Vinny into a panic attack. Evan’s almost tempted to go back and slaughter the man, but it won't do anything except bring suspicion onto them. 

The silence stretches as Evan struggles to respond. The hatred is cold, hot, burning and freezing and aching in his chest; he remembers how they were treated for just being friends. He remembers how Vinny would just let it chip away at him. Evan feels a dark growl rising from his chest, something animal and feral. It isn't until Vinny hooks a finger under his collar, pulling gently, that he forces himself to bury the rage.

Vinny keeps his finger under the collar. It makes it a bit tight, but he doesn't mind since he can feel the way Vinny isn't tense anymore. The dirt and rocks he's laying on digging into his side don't even matter to him. Vinny keeps speaking just because Evan won't, maybe can't. “Look, Ev, he’s just-” 

“ _Wrong_. So fuckin’ what if you're gay? No reason to use that word.” Evan hisses. The rage, the rage won’t leave his chest. It’s settled in there like the counterpart to Vinny’s anxiety. Vinny runs his free hand down Evan’s back, then makes a vague sound.

“He’s in the past, Ev. D’you wanna keep walking-?” He asks. Evan just nods, lifting his head off of Vinny’s thigh as that thick finger slides out from between his collar and his neck. “Um, also, your collar...?”

“May as well keep it on. Don’t mind it.” He grunts. This time, when he tries to slot himself into Vinny’s side, he’s allowed to. Vinny wraps an arm around his shoulders, Vinny smiles. The silence they fall into is comfortable; he can hear, still, the way Vinny’s heart beats not like a jackrabbit but in a calm manner. He can feel how relaxed Vinny is. Calm, safe for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i like to think dr. corenthal taught fairmount evan the 1-2-3-4-5 thing that current evan does in Le premier cours and it just leaked over due to regeneration bullshit.  
>  **edit 10/8:** edited the counting part because it was too similar to part of [this fic by rems](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14384547). i didn't intend to lift the concept or dialogue but hey, it happened. i apologize to rems should they see this. either way you ought to check that fic out, they do the fairmount thing very well.
> 
> anyway, hey, this time vinny’s freaking the fuck out! i still love vinny. he's mad pretty and a fucking wreck which is totally understandable in his situation. [check this image out too.](https://78.media.tumblr.com/48028a213684732e8bcccf2d014af806/tumblr_inline_pdow49Kpzd1us4hll_640.png)
> 
> only evan's perspective in this one to make up for last chapter. i've got a few chapters written or partially written ahead of this; what will probably be chapter ten will kick things into high gear.


	8. Stick in the mud

Both of them have to take breaks; Evan’s still hurting from being hit, and Vinny just never had much stamina. They’re both sitting on the dirt on the side of the road, drinking some of the water they have left. Evan had killed a rabbit or two - the scent so enticing, he barely managed to stop himself from just eating them raw - and Vinny has made a fire to cook them on.

The smell of the smoke and the meat, raw and cooked, is a lot to Evan. Despite how he’s managing to make idle conversation with Vinny, he can’t really focus with how much is going on. It really doesn’t help when something new wafts over on the breeze; whatever train of thought he had is completely derailed by the scent.

It’s something- something awful. Twisted. Like dead little kids and warping reality and everything wrong about the world. He couldn’t explain it aloud to anyone, not with how it keeps changing and altering, but he knows what it is. Vinny looks at him, puzzled, only to yell as Evan takes off after the scent. 

He’s fast. He relishes the wind in his hair, the dirt under his paws, he relishes the way that the stupid fucking stick in the mud couldn’t run from him if it wanted to. He loves the harsh snap of the skin - or whatever it is - under his teeth until he’s cast back. The world warps around him, changing in his mind and there’s a deep _crack_ in his chest as he feels something break, or maybe it doesn’t break, he’s not very sure about any of it. There’s a tense moment as the thing, the monster not quite like HABIT but not quite _not_ like HABIT looks him over. His teeth are still around its arm, but he’s flung away with ease. 

He’s only sure that when he comes to, he’s alone. His chest aches, blood is dripping off his lips as he’s thrown deep into a coughing fit. Like the time he went after the fucking stick in the mud with that bat, so long ago. It’s all too confusing for him to know much outside of his immediate sensations. The ache, the burn of his lungs, the fact that Vinny isn’t there as far as he can tell.

Vinny isn’t _there_. That manages to make him more alarmed than the feeling of plastic under his paws - hands, rather, the fact that it’s bright in front of him and he’s halfway convinced he isn’t even in the same place anymore.

* * *

Vinny watches Evan run off on all fours. It’s too fast for him to catch up, but he sees Slenderman standing in the distance. Evan hits it, almost bowling it over, sharp teeth sinking in and then he’s _gone_. Slenderman is too; an empty space where they were, Vinny stands and runs towards the area except-

As if someone stabbed a burning stake into each of his eyes, he can only scream as absolute agony takes him over. His palms lifting and digging into his eye sockets doesn’t do anything but make it worse and worse, so _awful_ that he feels bile rising in his throat as his knees hit the dirt and then that dirt turns to cold hard tile. When the pain fades, he’s left with the taste of electricity in his mouth and nothing else. The house is new; small, windows boarded up. Maybe an apartment, if he had to hazard a guess, but he’s really just worried about Evan not being here.

The backpack he had on is gone. Standing, peering around, he finds that the room is an apartment. One futon, a small kitchen in the corner, a small bathroom that isn’t closed off. No Evan. No anyone. He hates being alone, this he knows. He’s far too clingy with Evan, not wanting his friend to leave his sight for fear of losing him. The concept of a silent house, alone, so small with no camera, it’s all terrifying. 

Searching the room gives him nothing but cheap, old video camera. When he opens it he finds it still works; he finds, too, a computer. Just as old and just as cheap, it’s clear that it still works when he turns it on and hears that comforting boot up noise.

He makes a video, just for the hell of it. The wall behind him is blank and he knows he looks scared. “Hey, HYBRIDs... um, so, we got out of the house, but,” He looks away, biting his lip. “We drove for a while, Evan and I. Our car ran out of gas and we had to walk through, um, rural areas. Then- the tall man, you _know_ who I’m talking about, showed up and Evan attacked him, right? Now-” He moves the camera around, showing the apartment. “I’m here. I don’t know where Evan is.” A sigh. “Yeah. That’s all.” 

He ends the video and posts it to the channel, titling it _Lost_ and leaving _Alone_ as the description. It’s lonely, when he lays down on the futon, a thin blanket found in the closet wrapped around him. It’s lonely without Evan by his side. 

He falls asleep after some time, curled up, cold, terrified but not able to do anything about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, vinny's in an apartment like in canon! it's not the same apartment. 
> 
> i've got two chapters (this and the next) before the one i keep trying to rework into something that doesn't feel really weird and wrong.


	9. HABIT

Evan finds himself in a dog crate. A _dog crate_ , plastic and just big enough for him to curl up but not big enough for him to sit up or stretch his legs. The latch is covered with purple tape, though Evan’s sure he couldn’t open it even if he tried.

HABIT. It’s always HABIT. The purple tape, the fucking crate, the way his collar is pulled just a little too tight around his neck. The hoodie he has on is still there, thankfully, smelling of dirt and corn and Vinny’s scent, his stale wood, his fruit body wash, comforting, but he's still stuck. Stuck in a fucking box.

The room he can see from the grate of the crate door appears to be a bedroom of some sort. He can’t see the door, leading him to believe his crate it in the corner. The walls are purple (HABIT), the floor has a purple rug, ( _HABIT_ ), there’s Evan’s fucking knife he got from Jeff on the floor ( _fucking HABIT_ ). He knows it’s HABIT who did this, who crated him but kept him mentally here, he just doesn’t know why HABIT’s pretending that it isn’t so obvious that a dog could see it.

After a while, the time slipping through his mind like water through his stumped fingers, he hears a door open somewhere in the building he’s in. Heavy boot steps echo- through the house, halls, maybe some doors, but no steps. Evan tries his damndest to map the house in his head but doesn’t quite manage it. 

The door opens. Those heavy boot steps come in, stopping next to the crate he’s trapped in. Someone kneels next to him. Some _thing_ , he smells the iron and decay and rage, he feels the monster smack the top of the crate. When HABIT tilts its head down to peer into the crate, Evan snarls. It just laughs at him and starts talking out its ass. In one of its hands is a camera, pointed at Evan.

“Hey, puppy! Now, isn't it _thoughtful_ for that stick in the mud to deliver you right to me, huh?” HABIT says. Today it's wearing someone who looks eerily like Jeff, tall and slim with dark curly hair and wide eyes. When Evan doesn’t answer as fast as it wants, it slams one hand onto the grate. “ _ANSWER!_ ”

“I bit the thing.” He grunts, staring HABIT in its stolen eyes. That, too, earns him a laugh- HABIT just fucking _laughs at him_ , so often, so much, he hates it. HABIT rips the tape off the crate with ease, long slim fingers threading through the holes in the grates to wiggle them at Evan. The camera’s empty lens just keeps filming.

“Of course you did, puppy. Now... we have two _choices_ ,” It says, voice slick and annoying. Evan is halfway tempted to bite the wiggling fingers but he knows damn well it won’t end well for him. “We could either make you a dog again and give you to Vin, or we could stay here.”

Neither choice sounds good, really. He could be with Vinny as a beast or he could be tortured. He just sits there, silent and staring at the wide eyes that look so much like Jeff’s, and bares his stupid dog teeth at the monster. 

Another laugh, grating on Evan’s sensitive ears, and HABIT yanks its fingers out of the crate. The camera is set on the bed, and it slowly unhooks the latch. Evan sees freedom, so close yet so far, because HABIT’s kneeling in front of the crate so close that he can’t get free without having to fight HABIT. He knows he’ll lose.

So he slinks out, slow and cautious. He stays still as HABIT grabs him and lifts him like it did as a dog, thin fingers around his upper arms and forcing him back onto his haunches. HABIT’s face is so, so familiar but so different that Evan just wants to crawl back into the fucking crate and not have to see it.

“Okay, Evan, let’s see... I know you don’t understand. You never really did, did you? Dumbass. Anyway, it’s either I make you a dog-” It taps Evan’s forehead- “or I torture and change you. I’m good at that, you know? Didn’t you notice your scars fading and your body getting so much stronger than it should be? New scars of things you didn’t know about?”

“I didn’t because I was _losing time_ , fucker.” He spits, halfway tempted to twist away from it. It just holds Evan’s arms far too tightly. It smiles with straight white teeth, pushing Evan back. Nothing else is said between them as HABIT takes the knife, _Evan’s_ knife, a gift from his friend that HABIT tortured and torched, and runs it down his cheek. The knife is used to push him back into the crate- the tip pressed into his neck, just above the collar.

HABIT shuts the crate door.

* * *

Vinny isn’t sure where Evan is for a while. He's just trapped in the one room, resigned to making aimless videos and trying to sleep the days away. It isn't until the YouTube channel updates with a video- _PUPPY_ \- that he gets any information. It isn't good information, really. He sees someone, probably HABIT judging by the shitty framing, walk through a house. Through halls, into a room with a dog crate; when he kneels by the crate, Evan’s inside. 

Evan’s _inside_ the crate. Luckily, he's small enough to fit relatively easily if not comfortably, but the way the collar is too tight around his neck annoys Vinny the most. The conversation, stupid and pointless, just HABIT taunting Evan bothers him too. 

HABIT manhandles Evan just like before, and Evan just sits there and takes it. So used to being mistreated that he doesn't fight back. Not against the rough grasp, the manhandling, the use of a knife to push him back into the cage. The camera focuses on Evan as he curls into himself; the hoodie he has on, Vinny’s hoodie, almost dwarfs him.

Vinny hates watching it. He hates that Evan just accepts his fate and curls up, face morose and nose shoved into the fabric of his sleeves. He hates that HABIT kept Evan’s mind clear enough that he understands everything about the situation. Though, he's sure it'd be worse if Evan was made a dog again. 

The rest of the day is spent mindlessly scrolling through the comment sections, the emails, anything he can. HABIT didn't leave him with anything to do, nor anyone to interact with, and making videos gets old real quick when you don't have anything to say. The rest of the day is spent waiting, thinking, overthinking, being so lonely it hurts. It isn't until the door is kicked open that he finally looks up from where he was staring at the wall. The person is- 

Well, they look almost just like Jeff, tall and skinny and pretty, but they're just a little off. Someone else, and behind their eyes burns a hateful beast. HABIT. He smiles at Vinny, holding the knife he used to push Evan back, head tilted to the side. The pretty eyes of the body are tainted by the fact that the smile doesn't reach them. 

“Vin, Vin, Vinny!” Said more like Vin-ayy, the voice is HABIT’s usual gleeful crow. “I just visited your pretty little dog- do you want him back, Vin? Hm?” It's a stupid question, he thinks. Of course he does. Evan locked in a crate without food or water, without anything with him, is a horrible thought. 

Vinny responds quietly. He's learned that he really shouldn't try and fight HABIT, so he remains submissive. “Yeah,” He looks down. He tries not to look at the not-Jeff HABIT’s wearing, he tries not to think about how Evan’s trapped in a box.

“ _Good_.” He hears and then everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: large dog crates are actually large enough for a person to fit in. not comfortably, but Evan’s a little guy so he'd fit well enough.
> 
> might take a bit to work the kinks out of the next chapter.


	10. Chest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _ **major**_ warning for descriptions of rape and possession, as well as HABIT being **_very_** transphobic.
> 
> i'll put a summary in the beginning notes of next chapter if you want to skip this one.

Confusing sensations. Hard thighs under his hands, the bone of a jaw under skin. His lips against the jaw, sucking hard, his tongue in someone else’s mouth. The feeling of soft hair in his hands, the inner workings of a neck pressing into his hands as he grabs and _squeezes_. Noises he can’t quite make out, they might be word but they aren’t just yet. 

His fingers hooking under that collar and pulling on it until Evan choked on the air he couldn’t breathe. The feeling of Evan’s body thrashing under his, and even though Evan really should be stronger than him, he can’t escape. The feeling of his fingers slipping Evan’s pants off, the feelings of his fingers crooking into the soft spot between Evan’s legs, the feeling of his cock sliding into the same spot.

Evan is crying, he can tell. Evan is pleading until he realizes that Vinny isn’t coming back, that Vinny’s watching this like he’s stuck on the other side of a mirror. Evan’s hips are hard under his hands and the way his stumped fingers try to claw at Vinny’s arm is just sad; he can feel how he’s being too rough.

 _He_ isn’t. He isn’t being rough, he isn’t doing any of this. The overwhelming presence of HABIT in his head, keeping him trapped and using his body like a suit. Evan knows this, he’s sure of it (he can only sort of hear him crying _it’s not your fault Vinny_ and _Vin please please please fight it-_ ) but Evan’s tiny body under his isn’t something he can really ignore.

He can see how Evan’s chest heaves, how his spine arcs. The curve of his hips and the way his fingers scrabble and can’t seem to get purchase on anything. Vinny’s hands close around his waist; slim, handsome, the touches make Evan writhe but HABIT just keeps touching. Even with Vinny’s cock still buried deep in Evan, HABIT pulls him up. HABIT trails his stolen mouth up Evan’s jaw, sucking hard on the soft flesh just under it, HABIT buries his stolen hands into Evan’s short hair (it’s longer than it really needs to be, Vinny realizes, they haven’t cut it in a while) and murmurs cruel nothings into Evan’s skin. The cock - Vinny’s cock, as little as he wants to claim it right now - pushing its way into Evan without asking, sliding out, a vicious rhythm that has Evan bleeding onto it.

Vinny sees Evan’s body. So small under his hands, so small against his body. Vinny feels Evan’s body. Despite the hard muscle it contains, this close - HABIT’s feeling all over, the places Evan doesn’t like being touched, chest and crotch and chest and chest and chest - he can feel a few soft parts. Really just over Evan’s chest; Vinny’s more than familiar with how sensitive Evan is about that.

When they were little, Evan was always sensitive about it. Loose shirts and tight undershirts or compression garments. Vinny still remembers when Evan cut his long, long hair short; he loved it, was so excited about how he looked. He was so excited when he was older and got top surgery. Even though there was a little bit left that he didn’t like, a little bit of softness on his thighs and chest and hips despite the surgery and hormones, he worked and exercised until the muscle under the softness hid it. He still didn’t like people touching his chest, he still didn’t even like Jeff or Vinny touching it. He still didn’t like how he was hairless and small but he was proud of his work, his body anyway.

Vinny’s sure Evan’s feeling worse and worse every second. HABIT, either seeing how he squirms or knowing from being in his head, HABIT pushes him flat and grabs Evan’s chest and runs his hands down it and traces the faint scars and whispers about how he’s so _pretty_ , not handsome. HABIT keeps going until Evan is sobbing again, until he leans down and Vinny’s mouth moves along those soft pecs. The words he says aren't his, they _aren't_ , but they're whispered against the flesh anyway. In between sucking on the sensitive nipples in a way that couldn't ever be pleasing, HABIT says everything Evan could ever be insecure about.

He doesn’t want to think about this next part. He knows Evan was - what’s the word? his brain is just coming up with spayed - was, whatever it’s called, he can’t have kids but the fact of HABIT forcing this into Evan and he can’t stand how Evan goes so, _so_ silent. His eyes go so wide and he goes so still even as HABIT lets out a deep warped groan. 

Then the mirror shatters. Vinny’s pulled back into his body, his hands suddenly _his_ again and Evan’s body is under his. He’s feeling how his hands are clamped tight around Evan’s hips. Evan just stays stock still, eyes straight forward, he doesn’t so much as breathe. The bruises already blooming on his face, his neck, his hips where the lips and the hands HABIT stole gripped him far too hard.

Vinny’s chest feels like it’s about to explode. His heart pounds, he can feel the rush of a climax but he can feel how Evan’s shivering around him - _around him_ \- and it’s all so, so much. The way his body is hot and flushed, the way Evan’s started crying quietly. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Evan’s eyes move to stare at Vinny. Terrified, almost impossible wide; Evan doesn’t make a sound. 

“Evan?” He tries, as he slowly lifts those bony hips and pulls himself out of Evan. Evan still doesn’t make a sound except heavy breathing, his chest beginning to rise and fall too quickly. Simply laying there, he seems to be in shock; it isn’t until Vinny starts trying to wipe him off that he does anything.

“Vinny,” He croaks, quiet like he’s unable to talk any louder. The way Evan’s laying looks uncomfortable to Vinny. The way his legs are still splayed open, his arms by his sides and fingers digging into the carpet. He lifts his head to stare at Vinny, eyes still so wide. Terrified. The response is promising, at the very least. Evan’s not laying there riddled by shock, he’s speaking, his eyes are tracking Vinny. He doesn’t have time to respond before Evan whimpers.

He keeps talking, as if he’s just trying to get the thoughts out of his head. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I was gonna fight but I didn’t want to hurt you. I- I knew it was, HABIT. Smelled different and acted different and I _know_ it wasn’t you but-” He’s growing more and more agitated, legs twitching as Vinny wipes him off, having to push the towel up and-

“It looked so _much_ like you.” Evan rasps. His head has fallen back, and his eyes are trailing up to stare at the ceiling. The silence that stretches between them is almost tense. If it weren’t for the fact that Evan isn’t really mentally there, trapped somewhere in the thought of Vinny being HABIT’s suit, Vinny’s sure he’d be enraged right now.

* * *

Evan doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to think. Vinny’s body, stinking of HABIT’s blood and decay, Vinny’s body forcing him down. It was all awful, the sensation of HABIT using his best friend’s body to do _that_.

Vinny’s body above him. He likes Vinny just fine, he's stared at that soft body more times than he can count. The soft brown eyes, the way Vinny smiles small, the soft stomach and arms and everything. Vinny's hot, he knows; HABIT isn't. When HABIT’s in the body it's so much different. The softness turns to harsh lines, the eyes are dark pits of fire. The way the soft hands grope Evan just isn't the same as Vinny’s gentle touches.

All of it was awful, but the worst part was really HABIT touching his chest. Over and over, groping and tracing everything he doesn’t like about his body. Running its stolen fingers over his nipples, the sides that are still a little too soft for his taste, the long scars that keep him from being shirtless except around the people he trusts most. (Vinny, Jeff, Steph- that's really all, and most of them are dead.) 

He hates how his chest looks. He hates how, despite the muscle under them, his pecs are still a little too soft. Despite how much he spent on them they still aren't _right_ , and HABIT tells him that. The words, the words get trapped in Evan’s head. Vinny’s voice. HABIT’s words. “Oh, now aren't these cute?” Vinny’s soft mouth trailing over his chest, tongue leaving lines of spit, Vinny’s mouth around the nipples he hates. More whispered cruelties. “You'll never be what you want, Ev.” He doesn't listen to the rest.

The cock (and damnit, Vinny’s is _nice_ ) in him is distracting. HABIT keeps fucking him (raping, he has to remind himself) hard and fast (grunting and moaning in Vinny’s voice, warped almost beyond recognition). While he's never handled more than one or two before, it almost seems like it would be nice if Vinny was in any control.

Of course, Vinny would be gentle. Caring. Slow and passionate and careful, not tearing and ripping (Evan’s pretty sure he's bleeding) everything he touches. Vinny wouldn't touch his chest, would ask if what he wanted to do was okay, would temper Evan's aggressive lust with calm love. HABIT, though? HABIT doesn't care. This is a game to it, a show of its own desires without caring about Evan or Vinny.

It doesn't care, is the thing. This is just fun when it grabs Evan’s collar and pulls it so tight that he can hardly breathe, his lips going numb- and it lets go, only to wrap Vinny’s hands around his neck and squeeze so hard Evan swears he can feel his bone almost breaking. Then it lets go, again, returning those soft hands to his chest. Those lips go to suck just under his jaw, so hard he's sure he’ll have several dark bruises.

He doesn't think of anything but the hands on his chest until HABIT groans louder, a dirty warmth filling him. Evan freezes, then. His muscles go so stiff and he stares in front of him because he _knows_ Vinny is being forced to feel it. He knows that HABIT lets Vinny go by the way the body over him, in him, goes tense. Confused, Vinny moves his head. Confused, disgusted, his breath is hitching in his chest. 

Evan can't make himself move. He doesn't want to face the reality- HABIT used Vinny. HABIT used Vinny for _this_ and Vinny was _forced to feel it_. He doesn't want to face the reality of the warmth inside of him, the way that he can see Vinny shaking. Vinny lifts his hips slowly, carefully. He pulls out. That broken voice of his calls “Evan,” worried. Evan still doesn't move. As if his muscles were locked tight, he can't do anything as Vinny stands. It's only when a soft kitchen towel is wiped between his legs that he manages to reply.

“Vinny,” He lifts his head to stare. Vinny’s pale, shaking still. Terrified by what he had no control over but trying to make it better anyway. Evan can't stop himself from whimpering, from continuing to speak. The thoughts are too much in his head, too _much_. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I was gonna fight but I didn’t want to hurt you. I- I knew it was, HABIT. Smelled different and acted different and I _know_ it wasn’t you but-” The sickness in his chest compounds with the fear of HABIT using a Vinny, he twitches.

“It looked so _much_ like you.” He rasps, then his head falls back. Whatever energy he might have had before is gone. He simply lays there as Vinny cleans him, so far away.

He wants to comfort Vinny, he really does. It's just his hips ache again - the car hitting him fucked them up, naturally, and HABIT was far from gentle. As if it wanted to intentionally hurt him, it was too rough and too strong for Vinny’s body. It's just that he can't get the shock out of his head. It hurt, he's never been so thoroughly violated like that and he's never let a monster touch him where it did. He’s sucked dick, he's held it, but he's never had one in him- 

Damnit, he didn't want this to be his first time. He hadn't ever thought of HABIT doing this. Rape. It feels awful calling it what it is, but he stupidly never thought that HABIT would do it. He's not surprised, in hindsight; he's just shocked that HABIT didn't go further. HABIT didn't break anything major, just some tear and bruises and making Evan hate his body more than he already did.

Eventually Vinny realizes that Evan won't (can't?) move. It feels like his arms are made of stone, like he's completely out of control of his body. A puppet with its strings cut. Vinny just lifts him - both of them ignore the shiver - and puts him on the futon, and covers him with the blankets. It's gentle, caring. Vinny murmurs “goodnight, Ev,” and sits in the other chair. 

Both of them fall asleep to the sound of the other’s breathing, hitching and too harsh still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the chapter i had to keep retooling; for a bit i actually had two versions going at once because i wasn’t sure how i wanted to have vinny come to, and wasn’t sure if i wanted to describe it happening. i wound up just writing it all. 
> 
> also: evan is small. i love it.


	11. Handsome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for references to the previous chapter's rape.
> 
> a summary if you guys didn't want to read the previous chapter, which is entirely fair: HABIT possessed Vinny, and used his body to rape Evan. HABIT intentionally groped areas that Evan is insecure about in order to make him dysphoric, and then gave Vinny control only after coming in Evan.

Evan is still asleep when Vinny wakes. He’s got a crick in his neck and his body is sore, but he thinks Evan deserved to sleep on an almost bed more than he did. No, he knows; he remembers everything that happened.

His hands, his mouth, his cock. Torturing Evan. HABIT’s fault, but his body- this must be how Evan feels. The memory is like he’s looking through fogged glass, an observer of his own body, but he remembers everything just well enough to hate it. He couldn’t _do_ anything. He could only watch as HABIT violated Evan, he could only watch as his body was stolen from him.

Vinny starts making breakfast, just to do something. There’s a box of oatmeal and some brown sugar, so he decides that oatmeal is a good idea; both of them probably need to eat something warm anyway. The water is boiling by the time Evan wakes. The small apartment means that Evan isn’t ever out of his sight, but it does mean that Evan wakes to the sight of him.

Evan goes stiff. Confused, scared, he doesn’t move until Vinny speaks with a voice completely his own. “Morning, Ev.” The gentleness Vinny tries to speak with has Evan relaxing, pushing himself up slowly. The bruises today are viciously dark, like ink painted onto his skin. Hickies on the skin under his jaw, trailing down his chest, practically covering his pecs. Dark handprints on his neck, his hips. Vinny’s sure there’s bruising even lower but he’s not willing to upset Evan with a check.

“I left a shirt on the coffee table for you.” He says, still keeping his voice low. He turns away as Evan puts the shirt on; an attempt at privacy, in this tiny apartment. Once Evan stands (he hears a quiet grunt. Evan’s in pain, _fuck_ ) he turns again. The oatmeal is almost done, but Evan seems to waffle at the concept of getting close to Vinny.

Or maybe he just doesn’t want to move very much. Standing up, he’s hunched over a little, arms wrapped around his stomach. The way he holds himself _screams_ pain, physical and mental; his head is lowered a little, he doesn’t seem to want to look down at himself. He looks so much smaller this way. Like he’s what he was years ago, unsure of who he - _he_ \- is.

“Hey, man. Food’s almost done. There’s, um- not a table, you can probably sit back down. We’ll just eat there, right?” Evan looks up when he speaks. Those eyes, once so confident and powerful, are hollow and haunted. All Vinny gets is a small nod and Evan sitting back down stiffly.

Vinny wants nothing more than to assure Evan that he’s handsome, he’s so fucking handsome and his body is so wonderful the way it is. Muscular and soft and wonderful, HABIT can’t change that. (Vinny knows HABIT could but he knows too that, if Evan ever grew the things he hated about himself again, he’d just kill himself. Trying over and over until it stuck.) But, Vinny knows that anything he says to Evan now won’t help erase what happened.

Vinny spoons out two bowls. When he carries them over and sits by Evan, Evan is still curled into himself, small and shivering. His fingers don’t really manage to grasp the bowl or the spoon fully, but he doesn’t drop them either. He just stares at it, consumed by his own thoughts. It’s only when Vinny taps his spoon on his bowl that Evan starts eating.

“HABIT’s wrong, man.” The faintest bit of emphasis on _man_ , Vinny smiles small when Evan looks at him. Confused, those handsome brows - just a bit thinner than everyone else’s, the way they scrunch so Evan it hurts - press together. 

He doesn’t know how it feels for Evan. He couldn’t ever truly understand how it feels to know your gender, know who you are but not be recognized as it for so long; he couldn’t understand how it feels to have someone demean you just for your natural body that you worked so hard to make truly yours. He mulls over his words for a moment or two, then starts talking. Just spitting his thoughts out. “You’re handsome. Your- your, um, body? It’s handsome. I know you worked really hard to get it that way and you did a really good job.” He looks down at the oatmeal, then back at Evan; despite the bruises all over him, he still looks handsome.

“I don’t care what HABIT said. He just wants to fuck with your head, man. And- honestly, after yesterday? After _everything_ he’s done? I don’t really think he gets to make any judgements about you. Not when he does shit like that.” Evan smiles at that, small. His teeth barely peek out when the smile progresses to an almost grin. 

Evan doesn’t say anything in response. He just smiles, sunshine lighting up his face and chasing away the clouds of yesterday. He does speak, though it’s not what Vinny expected. “Are you okay?” Evan’s voice is rough, gravel in his bruised and abused throat. Ever so slowly he scoots closer to Vinny. Posture still weak, he’s not better, but he’s not doing as poorly as before.

Some thought has to be put into Evan’s question. There’s still a heaviness in his chest, leftovers of seeing Evan shaking under him and Evan crying and seeing his hands hurting and bruising and seeing his stolen body _raping_ his best and only friend. Vinny doesn’t answer for a moment or two; it’s only when Evan finally scoots close enough to press his side into Vinny’s that he manages to put a sentence together. 

“Not really.” More thought, he bites his lip and looks down at the oatmeal, suddenly not feeling hungry anymore. “I- he _made me_ do that. I was- I just had to watch, I couldn’t do anything and I just had to feel it all.” Slowly, ever so slowly, Evan’s arm goes to wrap around Vinny even as Vinny rambles.

The touch is light. Like Evan doesn’t want to make too much contact, but he’s touching Vinny anyway. This close he can feel that Evan’s still shaking- the shock of it all, it still hasn’t left him. It hasn’t left either of them. Despite how they’re touching, they’re both so hesitant to ever get even remotely intimate again. 

It’s not like they got intimate before, though. The closest they got was Evan trying to jump Vinny’s bones and being pushed off, but not minding when Vinny would be gentle and kind with him. They never got as far as having _sex_ , though; Vinny wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to try. Evan might have, but not anymore. 

“I know you didn’t do it, Vin.” Evan’s voice is still rough, quiet. Like he’s tired of existing but can’t give up because Vinny’s next to him. “It’d be hypocritical to blame you. Trust me, man, I get the- watching as shit happens. Don’t blame yourself though.” The touching gets to be too much for Evan, apparently; he pulls away halfway through him talking, shifting to sit almost on the edge of the futon. His tongue flicks out to lick his lips, almost nervous.

Vinny just nods, looking down again at the oatmeal. It feels painfully obvious, what Evan’s saying, but he can’t help but blame himself. Evan _begged_ him to fight it, to fight HABIT. He couldn’t. Then again, Evan knows the feeling- Evan knows how impossible it is.

They eat in silence, both of them thinking about what happened and what the future holds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they're both mad gay.


	12. Intimate

Despite how he made his body his, Evan is still paranoid that HABIT made him pregnant. He spends most of the next week, after being raped, pacing and so agitated that even Vinny can't calm him down. He works himself into such a state that he vomits several times - from _anxiety_ , from _stress_ , Vinny keeps telling him - and that just makes it worse and worse. Hunched over the toilet, skin slick with cold sweat, Evan cries and curses and babbles at Vinny that he _don't wanna be pregnant don't wanna- please please don't wanna be._

It's a rational fear, Vinny supposes, especially with the box of pregnancy tests that are sitting pretty next to the toilet in the morning. He just turns around as Evan takes them- all of them- then turns back around at the sound of Evan’s relieved sigh. All of them have one line. All of them tell him (them) that, no, HABIT didn't change Evan that way. Evan won't be forced to carry a thing he doesn't want, his body won't change, he won't be abused in that way.

Vinny wants a child, but not this way, never this way; he'd never force Evan to carry it, nor would he force it into Evan. He knows how goddamn hard Evan worked to make his body what he wanted, how much money he spent on getting stuff removed. And anyway, he knows both of them would be miserable for the duration of the pregnancy; Evan because he would be changing in ways he never wanted, Vinny because he would know that it was his body that made the baby possible.

Evan’s so relieved that he's near tears, but he bites them back and just presses his head into Vinny’s chest. The softness there where Evan isn't; Vinny doesn't mind having a softer frame. It isn't something he ever had to fight with society about, not in the way Evan did. He could just be a slightly chubby guy and it was fine. He actually likes it, to some extent, the way clothes fit and the way he looks in the mirror.

Evan lays down by his side without much provocation, when he moves to the couch. Evan’s laying like the dog - and man, Vinny had almost forgotten about the dog with the stress of the rape - he was, is. Evan’s hair is soft and just a bit too long under his hand; Evan’s body is stretched over the couch, muscular and stocky.

“Vin.” Evan says, after a while of them sitting there in silence. He hesitates for only a moment before asking, “Could you cut my hair again?” Longing for it to be short cropped, Vinny thinks, Evan runs a hand through it and pulls on his bangs. 

Vinny likes Evan’s hair long or short, really. It's _Evan’s_ , so it's always good; he still says yes. Evan stands up as he goes to get the scissors (kitchen shears, anyway) and they both go to the bathroom. Sitting Evan down on the floor, Vinny kneels behind him. One hand on his head keeps Evan still; Vinny starts cutting.

It's slow and choppy. The strands aren't quite long enough for Vinny to just cut it all off in big chunks, so he has to carefully get every part one section at a time. The jagged cut in the back is, frankly, ugly; he doesn't think Evan cares so long as it's short. When he turns Evan around to cut his bangs, he can't help but smile; the way Evan’s so _comfortable_ with Vinny, even though he's got kitchen shears right by his head, is promising. The only time Evan really cringes is when the shears close right behind his ear, a quiet _shnng_. 

It gives him confidence. The shortness of his hair and the way Vinny doesn’t touch more than necessary, the way Vinny still touches the bone and muscle of his shoulder and runs his hand through that short hair to get the tiny cut hairs out. The fact that he isn't condemned to nine months of torture.

Evan’s confident when he turns to Vinny, after the shears are set aside. Evan’s confident when he shifts forward to sit on Vinny - strong thighs straddling, crotch suddenly against Vinny’s, hands on Vinny’s chest. Evan feels light when he puts his weight down. So small against Vinny, his chest his pulled back but his head is leaned forward. A smile graces his lips. Those dog teeth are normal to Vinny, now, when he sees them. Handsome.

Evan waits for Vinny to nod before he does anything. Those stumped fingers grasp at the bottom of Vinny’s shirt, pulling it off in one easy movement as if it’s natural to him. Those fingers trail over Vinny’s chest. The softness of it all, Evan seems fascinated by Vinny’s body. He’s almost _gentle_ , the aggressive lust he usually has in the few times they’ve gotten close to this so far away, the way he just runs his hands over the skin so calm. 

His hands start at the top. Evan doesn’t spend too much time on Vinny’s pecs- though Vinny likes them, Evan probably finds them too feminine. Or maybe he’s just not interested. Regardless of the reasoning, Evan’s fingers just slide over Vinny’s chest, over his nipples. On Vinny’s upper chest he really only focuses on the scar.

Vinny doesn’t think about it much. HABIT pinning him to the ground and sliding a knife down his chest, the scrape of the tip against his bone and his guts were hanging out and his poor dog had to _eat_ because HABIT was forcing his head down into the gore of Vinny’s body. He doesn’t look at the scar, but with Evan’s fingertip (finger stump? it’s the tip of his finger, sort of) trailing down it so, so gently, he has to. 

It’s raised and pink. Evan has a shirt on right now - he’s kept one on ever since HABIT touched him like that - but Vinny’s seen the scar on his stomachs just like it. HABIT’s handiwork, the making and the healing. Evan leans down to trail his lips against it anyway.

It makes Vinny think of what HABIT did. It's not awful, though; Evan’s slow, and with Vinny’s hand lifting to grip his neck so he can be stopped there's control. Consent. Evan is silent, but he looks up with those pale blue eyes and waits for Vinny to nod when he starts something new. He doesn’t get aggressive. He just keeps running his fingertips over Vinny’s body like he’s mapping it, just keeps leaning closer and closer. 

His lips touch Vinny’s. Slim and soft, they explore just like Evan’s hands, brushing over Vinny’s. That flat tongue slips out to lick Vinny’s lip in such an unsexual way that he can't help but laugh. It makes Evan laugh too, eyes slimming shut and his face falling forward to where their foreheads are touching.

It's intimate, yes. Neither of them are ready for actual sex despite how Vinny can see the slightest flush on Evan’s pale cheeks and how he can feel his cock hardening. It's intimate, yes; intimate in the most caring way. Evan exploring and Vinny not touching anything but his hips and back, their boundaries so solid even with how close they are. Evan's so small in his lap and his eyes are so bright and Vinny can't help but pull him just a little closer, into a hug. 

It kind of ruins Evan’s momentum. Whatever touching he wanted to do is impossible with how Vinny’s pulled him so close that their chests are flush to one another; a little shaky noise of surprise and alarm slips out of those lips before Evan can think. Vinny just holds Evan tight. He's there, he's real, he's so warm and comfortable in Vinny’s arms. He's smiling widely when he wraps his arms in turn around Vinny, chin resting over one of Vinny’s shoulders. 

They wind up sitting there for some time. Relaxed, calm, both of them know that despite what HABIT did to them - marionettes with cut strings, forced together and forced apart time and time again - that they can rely on one another. Skin against skin, their heads resting against one another's, they're satisfied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a note on this chapter:  
> the pregnancy scare at the beginning is the remnants of an entire plot line i had about Evan being forced to be pregnant. i realized about 2.5k words in that it legitimately fucking disgusted me and i didn't want to write any more about something so depraved and disgusting, so i scrapped it, and replaced it with the lads being happy. good times.
> 
> anyway, i love Vinny and i love Evan. i love how they’re physically and mentally so different but they along so well anyway. was gunna have them have sex but it didn't feel right; Vinny doesn't really seem the sex kind of guy, especially not after the whole rape thing, and he probably feels like Evan isn't coping with it in a good way by jumping his bones, y'know? also, im always up for some guys cuddling. 
> 
> end of the fic, too! this one was fun; showing how people reacted to two guys who are obviously _off_ in some way, i.e. Vinny’s overprotectiveness and paranoia and Evan being visibly part dog, showing how people reacted to their being just a little too close for friends. thank you for reading!


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